Page 18 of Murder Most Actual

“And?” enquired Sir Richard blithely.

“And so this line of questioning is unnecessary.”

“I’ve got a master,” explained Mr Burgh. “But that only opens the door, not the gun cabinet. Whoever’s locking up will have a set of keys as well. They’re kept at reception.”

Tapping at her phone with one hand, Liza slipped easily into a follow-up question. “And the key to the cabinet itself?”

“In a safe in my office.”

“From within which,” Belloc added, “only a master criminal would have had the necessary skill to extract it.”

Sir Richard flexed his fingers. “Says you, old boy, but I’d lay a hundred pounds here and now that I could have old Burgh’s safe open in two shakes of a lamb’s proverbial.”

“Dicky dear,” said his aunt, “please stop gambling your inheritance. It’s tiresome.”

“How often do you go into the safe?” asked Liza, not quite able to stop herself.

“A couple of times a da—”

“This is all”—Belloc’s voice was raised to the point of barking—”most unnecessary. Belloc is, you may be assured, on the case.”

Leaning back in her chair, Hanna fixed the detective with a cold look. “And we’re just supposed to ignore the fact that somebody was murdered yesterday, and now an unknown criminal is running around the hotel with an antique pistol?”

“Revolver,” said the military man.

Over the course of their marriage, Liza had seen Hanna give many unimpressed looks. The one she gave now hovered at the bottom of the top forty. “Pardon?”

“Revolver. Pistols have fixed chambers.”

“Thank you.” Hanna did not sound thankful. “I shall be sure to bear that detail in mind when the killer is blowing my brains out.”

On the other side of the room, the professor gave a little cough. “Ms Blaine raises a rather important point. Is there anything we might do to minimise our chances of, well …” He put two fingers to his temple and mimed being shot.

Colonel Coleman gave a sly grin. “Keep your head down, stay away from windows, and remember that within twelve feet you can stab the blighter before they can draw.”

“Because of course I always carry my bayonet with me,” said Hanna. “Just in case.”

“You”—Colonel Coleman gave her a disapproving look—”are a very acerbic woman.”

Several minutes had passed without Monsieur Belloc speaking, a state of affairs that he clearly found intolerable. “If you would take my advice, madame, gentlemen, it would be best if you were to remain together, unless I need to call you for questioning.”

“Is that really necessary?” asked Sir Richard. “What if we all just promise faithfully not to shoot anybody, then we can all go about our various businesses?”

Belloc glared venom. “This is no laughing matter, Quirke.”

“Oh no, wouldn’t think of it. And dashed sad for both the Ackroyds obviously, her more than him in some ways. I just don’t think all of us sitting about here staring at each other will do anybody a blind bit of good.”

“I have given my instructions,” said Belloc. “Now I shall bid you good day. I must go and speak to the rest of the suspects.”

“Guests, Mr Belloc.” Mr Burgh massaged his temples in mounting distress. “Please call them the guests.”

Chapter Eight

Sir Richard, in the Garden, with a Wager

Saturday, late morning

Monsieur Belloc’s admonition to remain together lasted approximately eight minutes. They chatted a little about where they had been when Mr Ackroyd fell off the roof—all variants of “in bed” (Ruby, Liza was sure, made direct eye contact when she said it), except for Sir Richard who had been in the library, reading.

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